


what are the odds

by orphan_account



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe- Modern Setting - Freeform, Multi, Reincarnation, im not sorry, john works in a library, sorta john centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 09:05:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7526719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Laurens is exhausted.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Or: reincarnation is a thing and alex, laf, and john all manage to find each other in new york city</p>
            </blockquote>





	what are the odds

**Author's Note:**

> this took me forever to write sorry if it is a Bad anyway i thrive on kudos and comments thank u gbye

John Laurens is exhausted. Well, Jonathan Lawson is exhausted, but ever since he discovered his past life, he doesn't want to be called that anymore. It doesn't feel right to him, his name is John Laurens, he fought in the American Revolution, he died on August 27th, 1782. These are facts. He had an overly-friendly, probably (definitely) romantic relationship with Alexander Hamilton. This is not a fact, but it might as well be. 

Now, he's Jonathan Lawson, he’s 22, and he works at a local library. After this summer ends, he's planning on finally starting college and going into pre-med. That was his plan to begin with, but it sort of all went to shit when he got kicked out of his home and disowned at 18. All because his father, he can't think of the man as _dad_ anymore, caught him kissing another boy. They had gotten into a gigantic fight, slurs were thrown, actual objects were thrown, and finally, his father said, “You have half an hour. Pack up your things and get out of my house.” He wasn't so heartless as to leave John with nothing, though. He gave him a prepaid card and told him it had $5,000 on it. Those were the last words his father ever said to him. 

He went straight to New York, put a down payment on a shitty apartment, and started job hunting. He found the library in his second week of hunting, and applied the second he walked in. It wasn't much, a single story building, but it had every possible genre, and John saw a children/teen area squished in the back. He knew he wanted to work there. 

So, John Laurens is exhausted. He’s been at work since 9, been awake since 5, and hasn't eaten since dinner the night before. As he grabs a stack of returns, he checks his watch. 4:45. An hour and 15 minutes left until the library closes. He can do this. He puts all the books back in their places, and feels a pang in his chest as he puts up a biography of Alexander Hamilton. It’s stupid, he thinks, to long for someone who’s probably not even here. He hasn't found anyone from his past life, except Washington, and it's disconcerting. He feels alone, out of place, like he's over 200 years old, stuck in the body of a 22 year old. 

At 5:30, on the dot, two men come into the library. One is holding a stack of books, carefully sliding them into the return box. He’s short, the same height as John, and his black hair is pulled into the messiest bun John’s ever seen in his life. It’s endearing, and a little familiar. The other man, taller, his curly hair tied into a ponytail, walks up to the desk after a few minutes. 

“Excuse me?” He asks, and John catalogues a French accent. He has to force his mouth not to drop to the floor. 

“Um, yes? How c- can I help you?” His voice falters as he gets a good look of the man’s face. He's never been this close to someone so _out of his league_ before. The man is gorgeous, and there’s something about him that John can't place, something weird. 

“My friend and I, we were wondering how long you are open?” 

_Definitely French,_ John thinks. “We close at six on weekdays, and eight on weekends.” 

“ _Merci._ ” 

“ _De rien_ ” 

The man’s eyes widen. “You speak French?” 

John blushes. “A little. It’s mostly conversational. _Bonjour, je m'appelle, merci, de rien_ , easy stuff. I’ve been trying to learn.” 

“Interesting. Here,” he pauses, pulling out a notepad and a pencil from his bag. He scribbled something down on it before tearing the page off and handing it to John. “If you ever want some help with the language, call me.” 

The note has a number and a little heart on it. John’s blush deepens. The man turns to walk away. 

“Wait!” John shouts, mentally smacking himself. 

“Yes?” 

“You, uh, never told me your name?” 

“Ah, that. My name is Marie- Gilbert. Call me Gil.” 

John blinks. He studies the man in front of him a little more, and then his brain clicks in just the right way, and he's barely restraining himself from leaping over the counter. “Lafayette?” he whispers. The other man- Laf, Gil- brings his hand to his mouth in shock. 

“I haven't been called that in years,” he laughs, crossing his arms over his chest. “And you are…?” 

John wants to actually smack himself this time. “It’s me, John. John Laurens, not John Adams, fuck that guy.” 

“ _Laurens?_ ” He gasps out. John nods, a smile breaking through. He’s not alone anymore. He has Laf, one of his best friends. How lucky could he get? 

John glances at his watch. 5:50. Shit. He makes the “ten minutes to close” announcement over the intercom, even though Gil and the other guy are the only people in the building besides himself. The other guy. John’s chest tightens. 

“Gil, is, uh, the other guy with you… is he-” 

“I am 97% sure that's our Alexander. His name is Alexander Martinez, but they're so similar. I don't know if he’ll ever figure it out, though. He’s my roommate, and it hurts me that I can't just reach out and grab him and call him _mon petit lion_ like I used to.” 

John can feel his heart beating faster. Alex. His Alexander. Here. Lafayette. Here. All of them, together, thrown into the city in different circumstances, meeting in a small library. 

“Is it too late the check these out?” The man from earlier, Alex, asks, setting two books on the desk. 

“Nope. But, hold on, I’ve got something you might be interested in.” He takes off for the history section, coming back in record time. 

“What’s that?” Alex asks, looking the book over. 

“Biography. On Alexander Hamilton, it's by Ron Chernow. It’s a good read, really nice information, written pretty well.” 

“Oh,” is all he says at first. John’s afraid he overstepped. His worries go down the drain when Alex smiles and says “Thank you. I’ll let you know what I think. How did you know I’d like it?” 

Gil snorts at that. John sends a short glare over his way, unnoticed by Alexander. 

“Just seem like the type. Here,” John says, quickly jotting down his number. “Text me when you finish it, I really want to know what you think.” 

Alex blushes. “Will do,” he looks at the paper. “J.L.?” 

“My name is John Laur- Lawson.” 

“I’m Alex. Martinez.” 

John smiles, checks his books out, and leaves a few minutes after they do, locking up the library and walking to his apartment a couple blocks over. He collapses onto the couch, pulling out his phone and texting Gil. They don't talk long, Gil has to work soon (he’s a late-night bartender), and John is ready to pass out, even though it's only 6:30. He makes himself some dinner and then goes to bed, knowing he has to get up at 7 in the morning to go back to work. 

\- 

The next morning, John is in the library by 8:30. He’s tired, but it's not a bone-deep exhaustion. Just a scratch on the surface of sleepy. Gil had texted him around 3 to wish him a good day/night, and that he would let John know if Alex made his discovery. John hopes he isn't alone when it happens. 

John was 19 when he discovered who he was. He had been working in the library for a while and had finally gotten used to his apartment. He was on his lunch break, and his boss, George, had handed him a book and said “Read it. You’ll like it.” It was a book about the American Revolution. At the time, John was confused. He didn't like history, why had George given him this book? He read it anyway, and found himself engrossed. Well, as engrossed as someone could be reading about old white men killing other old white men. 

Halfway through his break, he reached a chapter entitled “John Laurens”. He cocked his head to the side, trying to remember hearing the name in his high school history classes. It didn't ring any bells. He read intensely, admiring the man for speaking out against slavery and trying to start the first black battalion. It sounded like something _he_ would’ve done if he lived back then. As he read, he felt a growing kinship with the man, which was probably not normal, but they were so similar; two people with dreams and fire in their eyes smothered out much too early. 

The realization snuck up on him, like most do. There was a factual inaccuracy in the chapter, stating Laurens’s birthday as October 28th, 1755, and John rolled his eyes. _I was born in 1754,_ he thought absently. He froze. The book clattered ungracefully from his hands, landing with a sharp _thwack_ on the table. Everything came back to him at once: his siblings, leaving home to fight in the war, being an aide-de-camp to George Washington, meeting Alexander Hamilton, _falling in love with Alexander Hamilton_ , fighting with his battalion, _dying_ with his battalion. His chest was tight, his head was pounding, he couldn't breathe, couldn't see, couldn't think, memories of dying on the battlefield coming back with full force, nearly knocking him out of his chair. 

“Son, John, are you alright?” his boss called, voice sounding muffled and distant. He felt a strong hand clamp down on his shoulder, and he used it as an anchoring point, securing him into reality, this reality, and he forced himself back. 

That's how John found out. He won’t ever wish that on anyone, not even his worst enemy. Being alone and having to relive an entire life is overwhelming, terrifying, life-altering. He hopes Lafayette is there, he was always able to calm Alex down during the nights after a particularly rough battle. 

The day passes quickly enough, and John’s boss comes in around 2 to give him his break. He situates himself in a back corner of the teen section, because they have the comfiest couches, and pulls out his phone. He has five missed messages and a missed call. 

_from: unknown number_

 _what the fuck alexander hamilton had literally the worst childhood why did you have me read this_

 _

from: unknown number 

seriously though i think he had a worse childhood than i did and that’s saying something 

from: unknown number 

oh yeah it’s alex, from yesterday? i hope i have the right number or else this is going to be extremely embarrassing

_

John smiles softly down at the screen, remembering Alexander’s tendency to be a bit verbose, especially if he was passionate about something. He saves Alex’s number into his contacts, restraining himself from putting a heart by his name, for now. The other two messages are from Gil. 

_from: laf_

 _i hope you’re having a good day at work, mon ami_

 _

from: laf 

alex is really tearing into that book you suggested to him, i have a feeling he will find himself soon. 

to: laf 

make sure you’re with him when it happens, if you can? i was alone when i found out. it wasn’t pretty. 

from: laf 

of course. notre petit lion will be perfectly fine

_

John takes a deep breath. Of course he’ll be fine, Alexander was able to weather anything back then and he’s sure he can do it now. His breaks ends a little later, and he falls easily into the rhythm of putting away returned books and tidying shelves. 

\- 

At exactly 4:23 pm, Gil hears a loud gasp from the living room, followed by a thud, and rushes out of his bedroom to find the source. He finds Alex on the couch, eyes wide and glassy, book forgotten (probably dropped) on the coffee table. A glimmer of hope sparks in his chest. 

“Alexander?” he calls, sitting down softly next to him. Alex jolts, turning and looking at Gil. He’s shaking, ever-so slightly that Gil doesn't even realize it until Alexander is in his arms. He cards his fingers through Alex’s hair, gently working through the knots until he feels the shaking subside. Alex pulls back, looks up at Gil’s face, and his eyes go even wider than before. 

“Lafayette?” he whispers, hands splayed out across Gil’s chest, as if he needs constant reassurance that Gil is real, is still there. Gil lets out a relieved sigh, and pulls Alex in for an actual hug. 

“I was wondering when you would figure it out, _mon petit lion_ ,” Gil laughs into Alexander’s hair. They curl up together on the couch for a few minutes, until Gil gasps and jumps up. 

“What’s wrong? Gil?” Alex asks, voice frantic. 

“I need to, uh, go to the library. Right now. You need to come with me.” 

“Uh, okay? I guess I need to return that biography anyway, I don't need it anymore. And reading about yourself seems kinda egotistical, right? Like, a real asshole thing to do?” He says all this while they pull on their shoes, and they're both out the door, walking at a pace just short of a run. They reach the doors a little after 5, both huffing for air in the middle of the lobby. John is at the front desk, and the sight makes him giggle, an honest-to-god giggle. 

“Good to see you too, John,” Gil scowls once he’s regained his breath. Alex walks over after a moment and slides the biography across the desk. John raises his eyebrows at it, and then at Alexander, which makes Alexander blush. 

“I didn't get all the way through it,” Alex explains, running a hand through his hair. “I got about three chapters in and I, well-” 

“I know you’re Alexander Hamilton, Alex,” John smiles, manually checking in the book. Alex splutters, cheeks turning even pinker than before. 

“How did you- I didn't even- Lafayette, what the _fuck?_ ” 

Gil is gone, wandering off into the teen section of the library. 

“Alexander,” John starts, reaching across the desk to grab Alex’s hand. “I’d recognize you anywhere.” 

John can pinpoint the exact moment it dawns on Alex. His eyes are huge, again, and he gasps so loudly John’s afraid he might choke. 

“My Laurens,” he whispers, so soft that John barely catches it. Before he can stop himself, John walks out from behind he counter and throws himself at Alex. He pulls Alexander as close to him as humanly possible, taking him in, his scent, the way he breathes, how he pulls back his hair. He can tell from the way Alex’s breath is hitching that he's crying, and John realizes he's near tears as well. 

His boss chooses that moment to come up front. He makes the ten-minute announcement. John still hasn't let go of Alexander. Alexander still hasn't let go of John. 

“John?” He questions. John forces himself to look at George. He pointedly ignores the tear sliding down his cheek. 

“Y-yeah?” 

“Who’s that?” 

“It’s Alexander, sir, I’m sorry about this, he just got here and figured out who he was and I missed him _so much_ , it won't happen agai-” 

George cuts him off. “Alexander? As in, Alexander Hamilton?” All John can do is nod. George smiles warmly. “Good to see you again, son. John, go home early, I’ll close tonight.” 

“Thank you, sir, I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Gil appears out of nowhere, following the two out of the library. “Why don't we go back to Alexander and I’s place? We can talk there. I’m off work tonight and Alex doesn't have any pressing assignments for a few days.” 

John nods, his head swimming. He grabs Alexander’s hand on instinct, then grabs Gil’s as an afterthought. Gil squeezes his hand and smiles. Alex blushes and runs his thumb over the back of John’s hand, almost in a soothing gesture. 

When they reach the apartment, they all kick off their shoes and Gil falls onto the couch. He opens his arms and makes a little grabby motion with his hands and John drops into his lap without a second thought, leaning against his chest. Alexander sits next to them, his head resting on Gil’s shoulder. Gil clears his throat. 

“So,” he starts. 

“Yeah,” John whispers. 

“We’re all here, now, together, how did we even manage it?” 

John inhales sharply, his forehead in the middle of Gil’s chest. “I don't know, Gil. I don't really care, either. I just want to enjoy this, just want to be with you two,” he trails off. 

“We want to be with you too, John,” Alex smiles from his position on Gil’s shoulder. “I didn't realize how much I was missing, not knowing who I was. You two were standing there right in front of me and I couldn't figure out why I was so fucking attracted to both of you. After I found out it made so much more sense. Honestly, have you read the letters the three of us wrote each other back then?” 

Gil says “no” at the same time John says “multiple times”. 

Alex grins. “Historians think John and I were fucking back then.” 

Gil snorts. “Weren’t you?” 

John laughs. “We never fucked, no, but we fell in love through stolen kisses and midnight whispers in the barracks. It was very sweet, and it made it easy to forget the horrors raging outside.” 

“My Laurens,” Alex fake-gasps. “When did you become so eloquent? ‘Stolen kisses and midnight whispers’ sounds like something straight out of a romance novel.” 

“I do work in a library, my dear Alexander. I read a lot of books.” 

“You two,” Gil drawls, “are so gay it physically pains me.” 

John giggles, again, he's really gotta stop that, and kisses Gil’s cheek. 

Alexander grabs his hand and holds tight to it, Gil wraps his arm around John’s waist and kisses the corner of his mouth. John smiles and buries his face in Gil’s neck while Alex does the same to the other side. They fall asleep like that, wrapped around each other, needing to be as close as possible as if they have to make up for whatever time they’ve lost. 

The last thing John hears before he passes out is a soft “I love you”. He doesn't know who it comes from. It doesn't matter. He whispers “I love you, too”. 

He means it.


End file.
